


A Thing of Beauty

by TabisMouse



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic BDSM, Spanking, Subdrop, Topdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabisMouse/pseuds/TabisMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiyong knelt at his feet, hands tied securely behind his back. He looked up into Youngbae’s eyes, small panting breaths escaping from between his parted lips. Youngbae stroked a gentle finger down his friend's face before gripping the chin firmly in his fingers. He wrenched Jiyong’s head up. </p><p>Youngbae pitched his voice low. “Have you had enough?”</p><p>Jiyong’s head shook, pushing against Youngbae’s grip. Youngbae arched an eyebrow in question. </p><p>“No, no sir,” Jiyong’s voice hovered above a whisper. Youngbae traced a trembling lip with his thumb and hummed lightly. Youngbae stepped back, letting Jiyong fall to the floor, and walked to stand behind his prone form. Taking the slender crop in his hand, he traced along the red stripes glowing over the skin of his best friend’s back. </p><p>“Very well,” he said as he lifted his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Youngbae

**Author's Note:**

> So I have to thank the lovely followers over at FuckyeahBigBang fics, for responding so well to a mindless little drabble I wrote about a month ago. It spawned the following fic. It morphed a bit along the way into what we have here. 
> 
> Be forewarned this is a platonic BDSM fic. This means that Jiyong and Youngbae are not romantically linked. I know that's not everyone's cup of tea, please if it isn't yours, refrain from telling me so. This fic has become incredibly personal to me, perhaps more than anything I've ever written.
> 
> A great big thank you to bunbun28 for holding my hand through this when i needed it, xiaorongda for a sassy fun beta, and the lovely TOPcorn for her invaluable insight, support and enthusiasm. 
> 
> Warnings: BDSM, spanking, subdrop, topdrop
> 
> Xposted: AFF

Youngbae had realized early in their friendship how much Jiyong craved physical exertion, needed it, even. The small boy would dance to exhaustion and beyond, pushing himself to collapse. He would spend hours in the gym, running until legs could barely stand. It worried him. Youngbae would try to keep up, but never could. Instead he would lay in a pile of sweat and agony as Jiyong kept going.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep up like this,” Youngbae said, late one night after several intense hours in the gym.

Jiyong looked at him as he ran on the treadmill. He didn’t answer and Youngbae watched him run, hypnotized by the regular rhythm of movement. He may have slept, or dazed, but some indeterminate time later Jiyong collapsed by him, head falling to lay on Youngbae’s stomach. His face was bright red, and soaked. His breath came in shuddering gasps that shook his slender shoulders.

Youngbae looked up to the ceiling before closing his eyes and bringing up a lazy hand to stroke at damp hair. His other hand pushed a water bottle towards Jiyong.

“Hydrate,” he said, grunting as he poked it into Jiyong’s side.

The bottle was plucked from his hand and he listened to Jiyong’s deep gulps. They laid in silence as Jiyong’s body began to calm. Youngbae kept stroking. It seemed to help.

“You know you really shouldn’t push so hard,” Youngbae chided, voice stern.

Jiyong just kept breathing.

Eventually Youngbae opened his eyes and moved to stand. Jiyong folded himself up and let Youngbae up.

“Come on, let’s get to the dorm,” Youngbae said, reaching down to haul up his best friend. They picked up their bags, and like twins, flipped hoodies over heads and plugged in headphones before shuffling out of the empty gym.

They were on the bus to their small apartment before Jiyong could speak. The only spots near each other had been individual seats facing forward, one behind the other. They each slumped down, muscles tired and worn. Two dark heads leaned tiredly against cool glass and the city lights flashed along outside.

After the third stop Jiyong’s slender hand reached forward and tugged at Youngbae’s headphones, dislodging the nearest bud. Youngbae lifted his head and paused his music, waiting for Jiyong to be ready to speak. Jiyong’s head slid forward, forehead resting on the back of Youngbae’s seat and he spoke softly.

“It’s my mind, Bae,” he said to the ground. “It goes and goes, non stop. All the time.” Youngbae looked at Jiyong’s reflection in the dark glass of the bus window. “All the time,” Jiyong repeated, and he brought his head up to rest his chin on the top of the seat between them. “The only way I can get it to stop is if I push myself so hard - physically - that I collapse. So hard I can’t talk, can’t think. I can just - keep running or dancing.”

Their eyes met through the glass. Youngbae smiled and nodded. “I get it, Ji.” In some way he did. “I just worry that you push too hard.” Jiyong’s return smile was weak, apologetic.

They managed to make it to their dorm. Youngbae batted at Jiyong’s head as Jiyong fumbled with the key. Jiyong butted his head towards Youngbae and they both laughed, falling into their apartment.

“Ya, go shower,” Youngbae said.

“Yes, sir,” Jiyong replied, voice suddenly sober. Youngbae’s brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Jiyong disappear towards the bathroom.

*****

Jiyong was furious. Youngbae had rarely seen him so angry and figured he’d need a while to wind down after his explosion at learning that they weren’t going to be debuting as a hip-hop group but as a boyband. Youngbae had let him stalk off towards the gym alone before taking their anxious new trainee, Lee Seunghyun, and showing him around the training studio in an attempted apology. The boy had managed to witness Jiyong’s spectacular tantrum, poor thing.

Youngbae made his way to the gym after sending Seunghyun off after his tour. It had been three hours and Jiyong was still in there. Jiyong hadn’t eaten that morning and he’d only slept for about four hours the night before. Youngbae sighed and stomped up to the treadmill.

“Ya, give it a rest,” Youngbae said. Jiyong just kept running.

“Seriously, Jiyong-ah, stop.”

Jiyong just shook his head and increased his speed. Frustrated, Youngbae reached over and pushed the button to slow the treadmill’s speed.

“Youngbae!” Jiyong shouted. He attempted to swat Youngbae’s hand away but Youngbae just swatted back and continued lowering the speed. Jiyong glared at him as he slowed to a walk. Youngbae pulled the panic stop string and the treadmill stopped completely.

The two friends glared at each other. Jiyong’s eyes were dark and intense, desperate for calm. Youngbae sighed again and grabbed Jiyong’s arm, hauling him off the machine. He tried to fight but Youngbae tightened his grip and pulled harder.

“Come on!” Youngbae snapped. He marched out of the gym towards the elevators. When the cab dinged open he tossed in a sputtering Jiyong and pushed the button for the top floor.

“Ya, what are you doing?” Jiyong shouted.

Youngbae ignored him and stared at the numbers counting up over the doors. When the cab stopped and the doors opened, he shoved Jiyong through.

“Youngbae!”

Youngbae kept his face blank and grabbed Jiyong by the nape of his hoodie and pulled him towards the door to the roof. Cold air slammed into them as Youngbae pushed them out into the night. He stood across from Jiyong, hands on hips.

“You need to calm down,” he said evenly.

“I was trying, Bae. That’s what I was doing in the gym!”

“You were in there for over an hour.”

“Sometimes it takes a while.”

“Too long. You haven’t slept or eaten. We’re going to go home and eat, and you’re going to get at least 6 hours of sleep. In order to do that we need to leave in-,” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes.”

“Well, it’s gonna take longer than that,” Jiyong snarked as he moved to leave.

Youngbae grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him back.

“The treadmill is going to take too long.”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.”

“Drop down,” Youngbae commanded. Jiyong stared at him. “Just do it, Jiyong, come on.”

Jiyong dropped down to hands and knees.

“My brother taught me about high-intensity workouts. We’ll do one, and maybe it’ll be enough. Give me 15 minutes and see if you’re ready to go.”

“Alright,” Jiyong said.

“Plank,” Youngbae said. Jiyong complied. “Now, one at a time bring your knees up then back.” Jiyong brought one knee up, then extended it back before bringing up the next. “Just like that, now faster. As many as you can in 1 minute.”

“Youngbae-”

“Just do it, Jiyong.” Jiyong grunted and Youngbae stared at his watch. “Start now.”

Youngbae watched the minute tick down as Jiyong huffed through the exercise. “Stop- rest fifteen seconds while I show you this next one.” Youngbae lay flat on his back, arms outstretched,  then brought his arms and knees up to tuck himself into a fetal ball before returning to flat.

“Bae,” Jiyong said, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

Youngbae stood. “Just try it - two seconds.”

Jiyong flattened onto the roof and began tucking and untucking himself. “Time,” Youngbae called after another minute.

“Ok - fifteen more seconds of rest then you’re gonna squat down and jump then go back into a squat.” Jiyong’s breathing was a bit rough and so he just nodded. “Start now.” Jiyong grunted as he went through the motions, squatting and jumping.

“Fifteen second rest then you’re going to run around the perimeter of the roof until I call time. Go as fast as you possibly can.” Jiyong nodded.

“Ok, run.” And Jiyong ran. Youngbae watched him as he looped around the roof then looped around again.

“Time!” Youngbae shouted as Jiyong was halfway through another lap. He walked over to where Jiyong had stopped. “Rest, then we do it all two more times. As hard and as fast as you can.”

Air was puffing out in large streams from Jiyong’s mouth, held and dancing in the air around their heads. He mumbled an, “Ok,” nodding as his chest heaved.

Ten minutes later Youngbae called time and Jiyong collapsed onto the roof. Youngbae knelt over him, laying a gentle hand on Jiyong’s head.

“You ok?”

Jiyong nodded.

“Can you talk?”

Jiyong shook his head.

“Can you think?”

Jiyong’s eyes looked off into the distance, heavy lidded and glazed.

“Good,” Youngbae said as he reached down to pull him up. Jiyong lurched up into him, arms locking around Youngbae’s waist. He stood steady as Jiyong leaned into him, catching his footing, catching his breath. Jiyong nuzzled into his neck and Youngbae brought up a hand to stroke soothingly at his friend’s head. “It’ll be ok, Jiyong-ah,” he whispered. Jiyong nodded.

Slowly, Youngbae started to walk towards the door, pacing himself so as not to rush Jiyong who was walking beside him, one arm still around his waist for support.

*****

It became a thing with them. The workouts. They seemed to help, and they didn’t take long. It got to where Youngbae could anticipate when Jiyong would need one. He still didn’t care too much for how it pushed Jiyong, but he couldn’t deny that they worked, that afterwards Jiyong was finally able to be still, at peace.

And so when Jiyong got too strung out - too restless - Youngbae would haul him up to the roof or their living room and put him through a short session.

Eventually they left their small apartment and moved into a cramped dorm with the other trainees, Lee Seunghyun who they called Little Seunghyun, Big Seunghyun, an old friend of Jiyong’s, and the two who made it in through auditions, Hyunsung and Daesung.

It was harder when they had to share space with other boys, virtual strangers. But over time they learned that sometimes the two friends just needed to disappear for a while and if Jiyong came back from their roof-top jaunts exhausted and spent, and then spent an eternity in the shower afterwards, they just shrugged and accepted it.

The day of the dance battle was important. The mix of depression, anger, angst and disappointment that swirled in Jiyong after his embarrassing loss to Little Seunghyun had proved particularly potent. Thirty minutes on the roof and still Jiyong’s shoulders were taut, his eyes haunting in their sadness. Their pain pierced Youngbae’s heart. He hated seeing Jiyong this way.

He stood as Jiyong gave out after a final push-up. Jiyong rolled over and looked at the sky.

“Why?” Jiyong asked a single tear falling back from his left eye. “In front of the CEO, Youngbae.”

“It’ll be ok Jiyong-ah.”

Jiyong shook his head. “Years of training, and practice for what - to lose to that kid?”

Youngbae didn’t answer. Jiyong rolled over onto his knees. “This isn’t working,” he panted and gripped desperately at Youngbae’s calves. He sobbed and looked up at Youngbae. “Hit me,” he said.

Shocked, Youngbae recoiled, stepping back, or trying to. Jiyong held him too tightly.

“Please, Bae,” Jiyong begged. “Please just, hit me.”

“Jiyong,” Youngbae said, trying to pull Jiyong off him. Jiyong buried his face in Youngbae’s thigh.

“Please,” he whispered.

Youngbae’s heart ached. He stroked a hand into Jiyong’s hair, fingers gentle. “Please,” Jiyong begged again. Youngbae’s fingers curled into silky hair and he pulled Jiyong’s head off him, jerking back so Jiyong’s eyes met his.

“Stop it, Jiyong!” Jiyong’s eyes tore at him, aching and needy. Youngbae slapped him open handed, palm striking Jiyong’s cheek. Jiyong’s eyes bulged, pupils going wide and a slow hiss slipped passed his lips. Youngbae struck again and again and again. “Stop it!”

Jiyong’s eyes glazed over and he nodded, hair pulling against Youngbae’s fingers. Youngbae let him go, fingers stinging as if Jiyong burned. He fell back onto the roof, hard.

“Ji- Ji I’m sorry,” Youngbae gasped out.

Jiyong was curled up on himself and he shook his head. Youngbae knelt over Jiyong, pulling his slender frame open so he could check his face. “Are you ok?” he asked.

A lazy smile spread Jiyong’s lips. He nodded. “Your face is all red. I’m so, so sorry.” Again Jiyong shook his head. He curled into Youngbae, fingers gently tugging at his Youngbae’s shirt.

“Shit, come on and get up Jiyong. Let’s get you home and put ice on your face. God I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

Jiyong just shook his head and stood. He walked where Youngbae directed, letting himself be pushed and prodded home. Youngbae laid him down in his bed and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bag of frozen vegetables which he pressed to Jiyong’s face. He stroked Jiyong’s hair. “I’m so sorry, Jiyong-ah.”

Jiyong shook his head. “No, Youngbae,” Jiyong mumbled, “it was perfect. Just what I needed.”

Youngbae shook his head.

“It was,” Jiyong reassured. “Thank you.”

Sick to his stomach, Youngbae stood to return to his room. Jiyong grabbed onto him. “It was ok, Bae,” he said. “I mean it.” He scooched over in his bed. “Get in, you’re sleeping here tonight,” he demanded.

Ashamed, Youngbae nodded and laid down. Jiyong shut off his bedside lamp, throwing them both into darkness. He curled into Youngbae. Somehow the darkness made it easier to speak.

“Jiyong, I don’t know what this is. I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t know why I hit you. I would never hurt you. I just wanted to help.”

“You did help, Bae. You did. I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but it helps. It just does. I must be sick but it does.”

“You’re not sick, Ji.”

“I’m glad you can help me. I’m glad you don’t judge me. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Always.”

“You may need to do it again sometime. It worked. Better than the running, or the workouts. My mind just snapped while you were hitting me and-,” Jiyong paused, looking for the right words. “Everything disappeared, all the pain, and the stress and the worry. In that moment there was just me and you and nothing else.”

“I don’t know if I can do it again, Ji.”

“I know, Bae. It was selfish of me to ask.” Jiyong pulled away, rolling to his own side of the small bed.

Youngbae curled into Jiyong’s back, an instinctive response to his best friend pulling away. “It wasn’t selfish, Ji. I-”

Silence stretched between them as Youngbae wrestled with himself, looking for the right answer. It took so long he worried that Jiyong had fallen asleep.

“Ji-”

“Yeah.”

“I want to be there for you. I want to help support and care for you. You’re my best friend.” He took a deep breath. “If you need me to do that again I’ll- I’ll try again for you.”

He could almost hear Jiyong’s soft smile. “Thank you, Bae.”

******

They didn’t need to do it often, they found. Jiyong rarely got to the point where violence was necessary. Most times just the intensity of the workouts was enough. But sometimes - sometimes it wasn’t enough. They figured out early on that slaps to the face weren’t going to be sustainable. Sometimes Jiyong needed to be hit hard. Idols couldn’t go walking around with bruises on their faces. They settled on strikes, open handed, to Jiyong’s ass.

*****

They were set to debut soon, so nights like tonight were rare. Youngbae sat, legs crossed, on their battered couch, playstation controller cradled in his hands. He looked over at Jiyong beside him, face illuminated by the flashing light of the television screen. The rest of the dorm was quiet- little Seunghyun working with Big Seunghyun on a dance routine and Daesung booked for the recording booth all night. Normally Jiyong would be up there with them monitoring, guiding, leading. But after 30 hours even his body had started shutting down.

Youngbae had dragged him home assuring Boyoung-noona that he would see Jiyong rest, despite protests that it was only mid-morning. Jiyong had protested their whole way home, not stopping until both boys stood in their living room. Youngbae glared up at a pouting Jiyong.

“You can’t even stand up straight, Jiyong!” He’d said.

“We debut in less than a month, we have to be perfect!”

Something in Youngbae had snapped, he’d had enough. He’d dropped his voice low, commanding, and unbidden his hand had come up to grip hard at Jiyong’s nape.

“You are worthless to all of us if you collapse from exhaustion.”

Jiyong had tried to look away but Youngbae gripped him harder, fingers digging into muscle, pushing into Jiyong and forcing his eyes up. Youngbae had refused to relinquish his gaze. “You are going to shower and then you are going to go to bed and sleep.” He paused letting his words sink in. “And you aren’t going to give me any more shit.”

Jiyong had gasped, eyelids drooping and lips going slack. He nodded.

Youngbae’d felt a swell of panic and let go of Jiyong, fingers stinging.

“I’ll be here when you get out.” He had tried to make his voice gentle, but even to his own ears it sounded severe. Jiyong had just nodded again and slumped towards the bathroom. Youngbae had sunk to the floor, mind reeling at what had happened. He’d let the whole scene replay over and over in his mind.

After his shower, Jiyong had slept and Youngbae plowed through some laundry, shuddering at the state of big Seunghyun’s room.

Hours later he sat playing in the growing darkness before twilight. Their clothes had been washed and put away and dinner for two sat cooling on the table. He’d fired up the game to kill time and after a few rounds Jiyong had stumbled down the hall bleary eyed and rumpled.

“There’s food,” Youngbae said, nodding at the table. Jiyong muttered to himself between stuffed mouthfulls of food. He sat and ate and slowly woke up.

Rested and fed, he grabbed a second controller and joined Youngbae. Night fell around them and they lost themselves in combo-streams and flawless victories.

It felt good to play together, Youngbae noted. Who knew when they would have another chance to be like this - once they debuted. He wanted to say something, remark on the specialness of this moment, but it would be stupid, awkward. Jiyong’s eyes met his and Youngbae smiled, emotion in his eyes and lips, pulling at his heart.

His best friend smiled back.

It was near midnight when he decided to test his realizations from that afternoon. He’d settled back to watch Jiyong fight against the computer for at least an hour. Jiyong’s frustration level slowly mounting at the increasing difficulty. He snapped after a particularly ridiculous loss and threw the controller, cursing at the screen. Youngbae snaked a hand out and gripped the back of Jiyong’s neck, hard and firm. “Stop it, Ji,” he pitched his voice down low as he’d done earlier.

Jiyong blinked and his shoulders rounded. The rhythm of his breathing shifted. He looked back at Youngbae and his stomach flipped. Youngbae pulled his hand back as Jiyong responded, “sorry, Bae.”

“No,” Youngbae said, standing, “um, I’m going to bed.”

He started walking to his room, He made sure to pitch his voice high and light. “Try to get some more sleep tonight if you can, Ji.” He made it a point not to command and he didn’t wait for a response.

He shook with adrenaline as he stripped and laid down in bed. It was dangerous, whatever it was they were doing. Dangerous and terrifying, maybe even wrong. No, it probably was wrong.

“Shit,” he said to himself, dragging his hands over his eyes. “Shit.”

He shouldn’t have be able to control his friend like he had. He shouldn’t but he had. Once for Jiyong’s own good and once just because. He lay in bed until the morning sunlight began creeping across his room. His mind had reeled all night but he sat up less conflicted.

It was dangerous, and maybe it was wrong. It didn’t matter. It was what Jiyong needed. Youngbae had seen the truth of that again and again with his own eyes: the peace and calm that settled into Jiyong after he’d been pushed, commanded or beaten, the sleepy haze that descended and allowed his high-strung friend honest rest. He wasn’t going to stop -whatever- this was. Jiyong needed it- him- and Youngbae was going to be there. For him.

Youngbae would just have to be careful, more careful. Not just with the workouts now, or the beatings, but with everything. He’d never forgive himself if he damaged the friendship between the two of them.

He’d felt, since the beginning, that he was walking a tightrope without a net. As he stood to dress for the day he realized he was actually skydiving without a parachute. He tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid of heights as he went looking for Jiyong and breakfast.

*****

The years after debut, their schedules were intense, and through it all Jiyong was still expected to keep writing, looking for their first big break. Leadership of 5 kids also took its toll. Youngbae helped where he could, how he could, but getting time away from the other three to give Jiyong what he needed was difficult at times.

After weeks of watching Jiyong fumble through a haze of exhausted confusion and receiving weak excuses of ‘insomnia’ whenever he tried to nag, Youngbae had had enough. It wasn’t too late he reasoned as he forced himself to walk calmly to where the rest of the group sprawled on their living room couch, enjoying a brief moment of repose. He tossed a fistful of money at Seunghyun-hyung.

“Take the maknaes and go out for a few hours,” he said, just barely keeping himself from a growl. The boys looked up at him wide-eyed.

“Bae-ya,” Seunghyun started but he cut off when he saw Youngbae’s face. Quickly the three gathered their belongings and put on their shoes, escaping the dorm as fast as possible while Youngbae watched. Dazed, Jiyong looked up from the pile of dishes he’d just dropped over the kitchen floor, the impetus for Youngbae’s outburst.

“Youngbae-,” Jiyong started.

“No, Jiyong,” Youngbae said, grabbing the boy by the arm. He’d always thought their time together, what they did, was for Jiyong. And it was, but part of Youngbae was beginning to realize how much he needed it as well. Caring for Jiyong was beginning to bring him a certain level of satisfaction, and even peace. It frustrated - hurt - him to see Jiyong pushed like this. It felt good to know he could do something about it.

Sometimes he still hung up on it a bit, the violence of it. But the pain - the pain wasn’t the goal. The pain was a tool, the path to release and comfort.

He dragged Jiyong to his own room, it was closer. Jiyong didn’t protest as he was pushed down onto the bed. Youngbae swooped down to grab his legs, tossing them on the bed as well and stood. He began undoing the buckle of his belt.

“Enough, Jiyong,” he said in that voice.

Jiyong looked up at him and swallowed, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry Bae,” Jiyong whispered.

“How long has it been since you slept?” he asked, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from his pants.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Clothes off, lay down,” his voice was a whip and Jiyong flinched back but nodded, stripping. He turned himself to lay prone on the bed. Youngbae’s heart ached as he saw the tension in the lines of Jiyong’s body, the taut muscles, the strain in his fists as he clenched at the sheets, the pinched look in his face. “I’m going to go hard,” he paused to place a hand on Jiyong’s head. It felt right for it to be there.“I’m going to go hard so you can sleep. We can make do tomorrow morning without you.”

“But-”

“Shut it, Ji. I’m talking to manager-hyung and you are sleeping in. No talking now.”

Jiyong’s eyes got that glazed look that sometimes came over him and he nodded. Jiyong turned his head to bury his face in Youngbae’s sheets. Youngbae lifted his arm, belt in hand, and let it fall. Jiyong shivered at the strike and a small yelp emanated from the bed.

Youngbae struck again. “Everyone is gone, Ji,” another strike, “make as much noise as you need.” Jiyong screamed.

Blooms of red streaked down his back in a subtle gradation. Youngbae made sure not to hit the same spot twice in a row. He started at the top of Jiyong’s back and slowly made his way down. He was measured, steady, the muscles of his arm, shoulder and back falling into a smooth rhythm. He hit hard, aiming for just short of bruising. The loud slap of each strike reverberated in the small room, each hit punctuated by Jiyong’s screams. His breath came in deep gulps, paced in time with the rise and fall of his arm. His ears throbbed with the sound of Jiyong’s voice.

When he made it to mid-thigh he paused. He dropped the belt and ran a hand up between Jiyong’s shoulder blades. Youngbae took him in, eyes looking nowhere but at Jiyong. He ran his hand up and down in soothing strokes. Jiyong whimpered, sweat pouring off him to stain the sheets. He’d been panting as though running. Youngbae stroked until Jiyong’s breath evened, his own falling into sync with the rise and fall of Jiyong’s back. He stroked a hand through sweaty hair then back down, feeling the tension still coiled in Jiyong’s body.

“Again,” Youngbae said and took up the belt. Jiyong looked up at him, his eyes heavy lidded, almost sleepy. He smiled lazily. Youngbae’s face was soft in answer and he lifted his arm. His strikes were harder this time, as were Jiyong’s cries. There was something wrong with them but Youngbae couldn’t tell what. His vision narrowed and he began to sway, endorphins rushing through him, singing in his blood as his arm rose and fell.

He traced his path down Jiyong’s back. carefully laying a trail of flushing red over his friend’s body. Pleasure surged through him, satisfaction as he watched Jiyong uncoil underneath him, the tension an almost visible thing sloughing from the slender body. The edges of his vision dimmed and Jiyong nearly glowed, skin pale and cream where it wasn’t red.

Jiyong’s breathing grew increasingly erratic, Youngbae’s breath rushed to match it. He crested over Jiyong’s behind and Jiyong’s breath hitched. Youngbae froze, belt slipping from his hand.

“Ji?” His voice was raw and strangled. He placed a hand on Jiyong’s ass. Something was wrong.

Below him Jiyong convulsed, whole body going taut. A sound wrenched from Jiyong’s lungs and then Jiyong stopped breathing.

“Jiyong,” Youngbae panicked as he reached for Jiyong’s shoulders to haul him over. Jiyong jerked away, throwing himself from the bed and lurching for the door. Youngbae watched in horror as Jiyong fumbled at the door and fled.

Youngbae stood gaping, nausea beginning to churn in his gut. His heart was still racing. What had just - he looked down to the bed and saw the stains darkening his sheets. There had been sweat from Jiyong’s forehead but - his mind stuttered. Wetness darkened more than where Jiyong’s head had lain.

It couldn’t be blood. Nothing Youngbae had done would have broken skin. He dropped a hand to the sheets. His mind seemed to be operating through sludge. Not blood, not tears or sweat.

Sometimes he’d thought that Jiyong’s body moved strangely, after they finished. Sometimes his body curved strangely against Youngbae’s strikes. He’d asked a few times if he was hitting too hard, but Jiyong had always shrugged uncomfortably and said no.

Youngbae yanked his hand back. Come. Jiyong had come. He’d made his best friend come in his bed. He gripped at his crotch, frantic. He was flaccid in his fist but his heart raced harder. Jiyong- his heart leapt into his throat. He wanted to run to Jiyong’s room but his legs were frozen. He sank down to the floor, pressing his back into the bed and curling his knees into his chest. Tears were streaking, unheeded, down his face.

Jiyong was gone; he’d fucked up. He shivered uncontrollably as that fact repeated in an endless loop in his mind. His hands trembled as they cradled his head. He was supposed to be taking care of Jiyong. He had been watching but hadn’t seen. The look of terror Jiyong had shot him as he escaped for the door seared itself into his mind. The realization slammed into him: he was a monster.

He replayed the scene in his mind, the strikes, the sounds, the colors. He could see every muscle in Jiyong’s back, replayed in high definition. Someway, somehow he should have seen the moment things had gone too far, the moment he’d turned from friend to something else and Jiyong had run from him.

His breath caught in his chest and his stomach heaved. He rolled and grabbed for his trash can half a second before his stomach wrenched itself from him. He hadn’t eaten much, so bile and water burned him from the inside out.

He collapsed onto his back.  A million half thought questions spun in his mind. There were no answers but just the fact: he’d failed them, destroyed them.

He crawled to his door and stood in the hall. He had to check on Jiyong. The dorm was empty and it was only him. He knocked on the door, terrified. He could hear great, wracking sobs on the other side. He knocked again a little louder. The sobs continued. He wanted to call out but, he didn’t deserve Jiyong’s friendship. He didn’t deserve the privilege of providing comfort, not after tonight. He slid down the door to lay on the floor of the threshold, listening to the sobs on the other side.

They found him there hours later, the rest of the band. He’d passed out in the hall, tears dried on his face.

Seungri shook him gingerly. “Bae- Youngbae hyung,” he whispered. Youngbae startled and gripped at Seungri’s wrist. He looked around confused.

“Are you ok,” Seunghyun’s steady voice offered no comfort. Youngbae shook his head, dragging hands through his hair. “I fucked up,” he answered.

“Did you fight?” Daesung asked. Youngbae flinched away from the hands reaching for him and stood.

“No we’re fine, everything's fine,” he said. He looked at Jiyong’s door.

“Youngbae-” Seunghyun started but Youngbae pushed passed him to his room.

The others didn’t  learn what had happened between the two friends, at least not over the following weeks of strained awkwardness. They watched in confusion as Jiyong withdrew deeply into himself and Youngbae brooded. The two didn’t talk unless there was a camera pointed at them.

It was nearly a month before Youngbae could be in the same room with Jiyong outside work. It was several before he could reassure him that he really didn’t like boys and then he had to deal with the agonizing realization of his friend’s one-sided love. It made looking at Jiyong without flinching nearly impossible. This was what it felt like to crash after skydiving without a parachute.

*****

Time seemed a universal cure. Months upon months slipped by and they shot to the top of the world, hit after hit exalting them above the fray. Though things between them were still tense, he and Jiyong had settled into a pattern of placid, overlapping spheres. Sometimes he missed his friend with a soul-rending ache. Sometimes Jiyong pushed himself too hard and Youngbae fought to keep himself in check. He’d watch Jiyong run himself to exhaustion through hours spent in the gym.

Time managed to provide some clarity and slowly he began to suspect that, though Jiyong did harbor a one-sided love, it wasn’t for Youngbae.

They sat at the table after celebrating another hit, detritus of drinks and dinner littering its surface. Somehow, despite usually avoiding it, they were alone. Everyone had drifted off leaving just the two former best friends. There was alcohol. It made talking easier.

“How are you holding up?” Youngbae asked but he knew the answer. They never really talked about what had happened, what had stopped between them, or why.

Jiyong looked at his bottle, apprehensive, but he answered, “I’m dealing.”

“Not well,” Youngbae said. It was the alcohol that let him continue. “I don’t like boys, Jiyong, I’m sorry.” His voice was as gentle and sincere as he could manage.

Jiyong looked at him, aghast. “I know, Bae.” They stared at each other. “I don’t like you, Youngbae. Like that.” Silence stretched between them before Jiyong whispered, “I don’t know why - I don’t know what is wrong with my body - I don’t know why I -”

Youngbae couldn’t let him finish. “But you don’t like me?”

Jiyong curled his lip in distaste. “No, that would just be - no,” he shook his head. Youngbae felt vaguely offended.

“Is that why you haven’t. Why you haven’t-”

“I screwed up, Ji. I never apologized but I do - apologize - now. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t, though, Bae. It was me. There’s something wrong with me. I’m … fucked up somehow.”

“No you aren’t,” Youngbae said. Jiyong looked at him sardonically. “You aren’t. I don’t know why but I just know you aren’t.”

They sat in silence as Youngbae dug for the courage to say what he knew he needed to say. “You aren’t holding up are you?” He spoke in a hushed whisper, anxiety fluttering in his heart.

Jiyong shook his head.

“Look, I know I fucked up but - If you can forgive me maybe we can …. maybe I could put you through a workout sometime.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” Jiyong said under his breath before nodding softly. “It would help, I think.”

*****

They never went as far as they once had. Youngbae only ever let it happen on the roof. He’d scour fitness sites for the most intense, exhaustive exercises he could. Then he’d push Jiyong as hard and fast as he could without causing damage.

He monitored them both carefully, scared of a second failure. He never used that voice, always being sure to speak gently, suggesting, not commanding. It wasn’t efficient, but it was enough. It was as far as Youngbae was willing to go. It was enough until it wasn’t, until the accusations of plagiarism began to come out. The world came for G-Dragon and Jiyong went to Youngbae.

They spent days on that roof, Jiyong purging his pain and worry in sit ups and mountain climbers and Russian Twists.

“Hyung, this isn’t working,” Jiyong said.

“Just a little more Jiyong.”

“It isn’t working, Bae-ya!”

They glared at one another. Youngbae felt apprehension gliding under his skin.

“You know what will work,” Jiyong said, kneeling at Youngbae’s feet.

“Dammit Jiyong. I can’t,” Youngbae said, looking anywhere but at Jiyong.

“Please, sir,” Jiyong whispered. Youngbae’s breath caught. That word tugged at him. Jiyong looked up at him, eyes demanding in their need, their pain. “Please help me. Please, I need-”

Youngbae raised a hand and, almost instinctively, slapped Jiyong on the cheek, hard. Hard enough to send him sprawling to the cold concrete.

“Please,” Jiyong whispered again and Youngbae was on him, raining open handed blows along his back, his ass, his thighs.

 

They sat for a moment afterwards, together, side to side. Jiyong looked a wreck but he was loose, limp. He could barely keep his eyes open. Youngbae shifted and pulled Jiyong’s head down to his lap, stroking fingers through his hair.

“Sleep for a bit, Jiyong-ah,” Youngbae said, letting command slip into his voice for the first time in years. “Nap then we’ll go clean up and go home.” He stroked Jiyong until he began snoring softly.

 

“Nice workout,” the voice startled him, pushing his heart up into his throat. Jiyong stirred but didn’t wake. Youngbae looked towards the voice and Dongwook stood by the rooftop door, puffing a cigarette and looking at them.

“Hyung,” Youngbae said. “How long have you-”

“You stupid children,” Dongwook said, cutting him off.

“We aren’t children,” Youngbae felt defensive, protective, palm cupping Jiyong’s head protectively. “It’s just - sometimes he needs it. Sometimes he starts to spiral down and if we do this - it - stops it. It makes it better - easier.”

“I know what it is he needs. And I know what it is you are doing,” Dongwook glared at him, “even if you two don’t.” He took a drag off of his cigarette. “It’s dominance and submission.” Dongwook paused to walk over to Youngbae, sitting next to him. “He craves it, but you’re not completely comfortable with it are you?”

Youngbae shook his head.

“But you care. You need to take care. And if it’s what he needs, you’ll give it to him.” Dongwook wasn’t asking but Youngbae nodded anyway.

“I’m scared, hyung,” Youngbae confessed. Dongwook looked at him, patient and open. He didn’t respond, just let the silence stretch between them. “Sometimes I worry I’ll hurt him again.” Dongwook raised an eyebrow. “I did once, real bad.” Youngbae looked at Jiyong. “I can make him DO things. MAKE him-,” Youngbae struggled to find the words to describe what he felt. “I don’t want to hurt him. It’s not about hurting-,” he looked off into the darkness. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Are you in love with him?” Dongwook asked.

Youngbae blushed but shook his head. “We aren’t gay,” he was vehement.

“There wouldn’t be anything wrong if you were,” Dongwook said, nonchalant.

“Well-”

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“I mean I love him, of course. He’s my best friend and I care but- I don’t like boys.”

“And Jiyong?”

“Honestly, maybe. He’s -” Youngbae’s blush deepened and he froze, sure that Jiyong wouldn’t like him sharing this much.

“He’s come?”

Youngbae nodded.

“It happens sometimes. It’s ok. Does he like you?” Dongwook asked.

Youngbae shook his head. “Sometimes I think- sometimes I think he likes someone-”

“Someone male?” Dongwook finished for him. Youngbae tightened his lips, knowing he’d already gone too far.

“Big Seunghyun?” Dongwook asked. Youngbae’s eyes widened in shock. “Jiyong isn’t very good at dissembling,” Dongwook explained.

“So what you’re doing-”

“It’s not sex,” Youngbae’s mind was frantic to try to find the words to explain what it was.

“It doesn’t have to be, you know. It’s ok if it isn’t. And doing it for him doesn’t make you gay or sick or wrong.” Relief flooded through Youngbae. It comforted him to have someone older soothe his fears. “But if you’re going to do it you need to not be stupid about it,” Dongwook continued.

Youngbae’s eyes asked the questions his lips couldn’t.

“There are rules, precautions you should take. For your safety and his. You’re scared because you have no rules, no boundaries.” He smiled to soften the sting of his words. “You stupid kids don’t know what it is you’re doing, or how wrong it could go.”

Youngbae nodded and listened as Dongwook explained about kinks and safewords, subspace, topspace, dominance, aftercare and safe, sane and consensual. There was a whole world of words and definitions for what the two friends had fumbled themselves into. When his hyung left, Youngbae sat watching Jiyong sleep, mind spinning.

 

He knocked on Jiyong’s door that night and let himself into his friend’s room.

“Jiyong, we should talk.”

Jiyong didn’t look up from his desk as he waved Youngbae in and towards the couch.

“Dongwook saw us earlier.” Jiyong looked up at him, startled. “We,” Youngbae licked his lips nervously, “talked for a while and he knows what we are doing. He-” Youngbae passed, “he gave me - us - some advice.”

They talked into the night, and for several nights after, making judicious use of the search engine on Jiyong’s laptop. Jiyong picked a safe-word and the worked out their limits, Jiyong’s needs, Youngbae’s boundaries, finally having the words to frame so much of what was unspoken between them.

*****

Over the following years they discovered shortcuts and long cuts. They discovered that when Youngbae used just the right tone and Jiyong called him ‘sir’ it had an effect that would do in a pinch. They discovered toys that made their scenes easier, more fulfilling. They learned why Youngbae needed to clean Jiyong up and dote and care for him for a while afterwards.

They were relieved to know that they weren’t sick or twisted. That they weren’t in love and could be friends that cared for one another in this unique way. Youngbae was comforted that he was not gay and didn’t have to make himself like boys. Jiyong was able to let go of the shame he felt whenever the pain made him come all over himself.

They never played while taken. By mutual understanding, neither sought the other out when involved romantically. Jiyong had only had a handful of relationships that lasted long enough to make it a problem. Seunghyun had come to it naturally, and perhaps it was why they had lasted so long before so much else pulled them apart. Kiko- Kiko was never able to really accept it. When she first learned of it - when Youngbae first tried to explain it to her - she was shocked and disgusted, ending things with Jiyong then and there. Eventually she returned, willing to try, to care for Jiyong because she cared for Jiyong.

In the end it wasn’t enough. There were some things she just couldn’t do.

When Youngbae got a girlfriend, a real, long-term, honest to god relationship, a slow anxiety began simmering. After a few months, it began to look serious and Youngbae had to do something. She didn’t take it well. She ended things. She didn’t understand.

Jiyong offered himself and Youngbae found comfort in punishing and comforting Jiyong as proxy for his own broken heart.

 

He didn’t know how but one day she appeared at his door. He’d missed her and seeing her filled him with love and longing.

“I don’t understand it, really,” she said, “but I think I love you, Youngbae. I think I want to try and if you can promise I will come first in your world, your friendship with Jiyong isn’t really my business.”

Youngbae pulled her into him, thrilling at the feel of her body pressed to him. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair and he felt her begin to cry in his arms. He kissed her and touched her forehead to his. “I want you to be first in my life. Always. Jiyong I’ll always love, he’ll always be my best friend. He’ll always need me in ways others won’t. Maybe someday he’ll find someone else who can give him this but until then I want to do it for him. If I can do that and love you, I will have everything I need in life.”

She nodded and pushed him towards his bedroom.

Eventually he began to suspect a certain hyung had had a hand in Hyorin appearing at his door. His hyung had worked fast after discharge, apparently. He tried to think of ways to thank him but nothing seemed sufficient. When the news of his dating broke in the press he came home to a package on his front porch.

He opened it in his living room and laughed at Dongwook’s audacity as he lay two boxes side by side. A beautiful scarf lay in the box labeled for Hyorin with a note of congratulations. The second held a black riding crop, the note simply said “You’re welcome,” in Dongwook’s characteristic scrawl.

 


	2. Jiyong

Jiyong liked watching the dancers. Ostensibly he was writing, working on the CEO’s monthly song assignment, while Youngbae worked on vocals. His friend liked to take a half hour or so in an empty recording booth to work on his rapping. He complained if anyone was within earshot while he repeated his own raps to himself again and again, said they made him anxious, even Jiyong.

Jiyong parked himself, as usual, on the bench right across from the dance studio, notebook on knee making a pretense at writing. Mostly he watched the dancers through the open door. Some days, he does actually write, some days .

He lost track of time watching the new dancer hanging toward the back of the practice room, sweat-soaked and tripping over the unfamiliar choreography. He had a permanently confused face, adorable in a way that was tugging at Jiyong in a way he could not ignore. He sucked on his lower lip absently. The dancer was really pretty. He reminded Jiyong of someone, he just couldn’t figure out who.

A blush spread over Jiyong’s cheeks as he realized the dancer was walking towards him. He began scribbling in his notebook, gibberish, nonsense words. He brought his knees up onto the bench to curl around his work, obscuring its contents. The dancer strode past him and he furrowed his brow at his work, not looking up. Jiyong stared out of the corner of his eye as the dancer drank from the fountain in the hall. He watched a long, slender neck take in deep gulps, skin shimmering with sweat.

As the dancer passed back Jiyong looked up, face carefully schooled into vague indifference. “Sup,” he said, tipping his head back to look the dancer in the eye. Jiyong flinched one eye, almost an wink. The dancer smiled.

“Hey,” the dancer said. His voice was deep, low, sultry. The word dragged out longer than a simple greeting. Panic flooded in Jiyong’s chest. He controlled his face, dragging a tongue over his lower lip. The dancer smiled wide before turning back to join his crew.

What- Jiyong’s mind reeled - what just happened? He had just flirted. With a back up dancer. With a male backup dancer?

Blood was rushing under his skin to pool in his groin and flush out his cheeks. Yeah, that’s what he had been doing. He closed his eyes to stop staring at the beautiful man. Youngbae would be out at any time.

Well, Jiyong thought, this explained the dreams. Some of the dreams. Not all. His mind shied away from contemplating those dreams.

His breathing gradually returned to normal, though he kept his eyes, if not his mind, on his notebook.

A warmth pressed against him, solid and gentle, Youngbae sliding over to sit next to him. Wordless, Jiyong shifted to lean against his best friend. They sat for a while, Jiyong writing and Youngbae with earbuds plugged in. After a while, Jiyong plucked at one of them and placed it in his own ear. His head moved to bob in time with Youngbae’s.

The dancers finished, filing past the two trainees and shouting suggestions for the best barbecue restaurant for dinner.

“It’s 10:15,” Youngbae murmured at the end of a song. Jiyong finished scribbling a verse before swinging feet down to the floor.

“Let’s go, Bae,” Jiyong commanded. Youngbae gathered up his jacket and ipod and followed to catch the last bus going to their small shared apartment.

 

That night Jiyong was restless. He was frequently restless.  His legs shifted back and forth under the sheets, bouncing and twitching. He sighed. He needed to sleep but there was too much in his head.

He remembered the dancer from the studio. He closed his eyes in the darkness and pulled up the image of his face, fine boned and delicate. His traced the memory of those legs, long and lean and shimmering with sweat. His breathing grew ragged as he remembered how thin the boy’s sweat pants had been, leaving very little to the imagination when it came to- he let his imagination go. He pictured the boy being long and slender.

He groaned and palmed at his cock. Yes, gay, very gay. His stomach fluttered, maybe not. But the memory of the boy’s hips shelved that thought for him.

He imagined the dancer pinning him to a wall, pressing against him, covering him. He spread his legs and slipped a hand into his pants. The head of his cock was already slick where it lay angled across his stomach.

He bit his lips and took himself in hand, rolling his wrist in a slow drag. “Yesss,” he hissed as his mind imagined the dancer flipping him face first into the rough wood-paneled wall. The ghost sensation of rough wood against his naked chest pulled at him. He dragged his free hand up his soft stomach and under his shirt to pinch and tease at his nipples. He rolled one between thumb and forefinger, teasing before pinching hard. His cock jumped in his hand and he felt his thighs tremble.

His fantasy had the dancer tugging down baggy shorts to rub a bare cock between the cheeks of his ass. His fingers twisted mercilessly, the pain intoxicating as his wrist sped up. The soft wet sounds of his overheated skin sliding against itself reverberated in his ears, punctuated by his soft cries with every wicked pull of his fingers at his nipples.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said as he imagined rough hands bruising his shoulders, his hips. He pulled his fingers from his raw nipples and move his hand down. He pulled his legs up, thighs quaking at the intensity of his arousal. He slapped at his balls, not gentle but not hard. The shock flew up to spike at the head of his cock, the hand around it flying now. He slapped again and groaned out low and long.

The dancer was spreading him, phantom cock pressing against his entrance. He dropped his free hand to his ass to circle and tease at his hole. The pressure, the need, delicious. He pushed the barest tip of a finger into himself and he came, eyes screwed shut, muscles convulsing him up off the bed. He tried to aim but drenched his shirt in come.

He collapsed back into bed.

“Fuck me,” Jiyong groaned as he passed out.

*****

A fucking idol group. Kwon fucking Jiyong, leader of a damn bunch of wannabe, fake idols. He couldn’t believe it. Tears of rage were barely contained as he stormed past the newest trainee. Youngbae was likely still giving him that look, pleading with big puppy dog eyes for Jiyong to calm down. He was probably apologizing to whatever-his-name was.

Well Jiyong didn’t need any apologies made. He didn’t need Youngbae judging him, making amends for him. He wanted to keep shouting and growling his frustration. Instead, he made it to the gym and threw himself onto a machine.

Years, fucking years, spent training. Leaving one company, joining another. Hours spent rapping, training, giving up friends, girls, his damn family, and all for what? To line up like a puppet with a bunch of pretty boys for all the bratty girls to squeal over. He thought of all the hours he’s spent writing, learning how to rap, rhyme, about rhythm and flow, only to have to have his words written for him.

It wasn’t fair.

Tears did fall a little, tracing slow, fat tracks over his cheeks. He ran and when his legs began to burn, he increased the speed. He replayed all those nights over in his mind, alone with his notebook. Nights when friends, girls, family texted him to come out and he responded with “can’t”.

Youngbae came up beside him, hovering. Jiyong tried to ignore him. He spoke and Jiyong kept running. He tried to convince Jiyong to stop but the rage was no where near subsiding so he ran faster until Youngbae started shutting the machine down.

He was angry at Youngbae’s intrusion, at how his friend couldn’t see how much Jiyong needed this. He tried to put all of that into his eyes as he glared Youngbae down. Youngbae’s eyes never flinched as he hauled Jiyong off the treadmill. Jiyong wanted to protest and fight back but Youngbae’s hands were vices on his arms, and his pace allowed for nothing but trying to keep up.

Jiyong’s stomach lurched as he was tossed into the elevator. A small part of him unwound at the rough treatment yet he still had to question when Youngbae pushed the button for the highest floor. He didn’t fight as hard, however, when he was tossed out onto the roof.

Youngbae convinced him to try some fancy workout, and Jiyong agreed after some persuasion, mostly because it felt good to listen, to obey. Going down on hands and knees in front of Youngbae felt right. He made a point to question, protest, but the exertion pushed already strained muscles in a way that the treadmill couldn’t. By the end of fifteen minutes, the ache in his body had purged the ache in his heart and the anger in his mind. He felt warm all over, and his head spun in gentle circles around the sound of Youngbae’s voice.

“You ok?” Youngbae asked. Jiyong’s voice was gone. His mouth could not remember how to form words. He nodded.

“Can you talk?” Jiyong shook his head. He felt like he’d been running for hours. Lethargy seeped into his bones, loosened every muscle.

“Can you think?” Words weren’t making much sense anymore. Jiyong’s eyes felt too spent to focus. He tried to smile.

Youngbae’s hands pulled him up and he stopped spinning, centered on their firm warmth. Jiyong fell into Youngbae, limp and spent. Hands were soothing him as they stroked his sweat-damp hair. He buried his head into Youngbae, inhaling the smell of home in his clothes.

Hearing Youngbae say it would be ok somehow made it true. It would be ok.

It didn’t, however, mean he had to be nice to his fellow trainees. Moving into a dorm with them had been a imposition and he made no effort to hide his distaste.  It took months before he did actually accept their proposed path, months to accept the other boys in his life. Bringing in Choi Seunghyun had helped, he’d always been a little bit enamoured with the older boy.

As debut grew closer he found himself thinking less of the YG dancers and more of Big Seunghyun when he stroked himself late at night. The fact that the stroking was frequently coupled with other things that left him raw and sometimes bruised afterwards left him feeling shame and disgust the mornings after, but only in the morning.

*****

He grew to look forward to the times Youngbae put him through a workout, most times they left him feeling a bit light headed but calm. Jiyong worried sometimes, however, about the other times, the times when the workouts left him feeling a little empty, unsatisfied, like he needed more.

The first time Youngbae struck him his head had spun and he’d spiraled down into weightlessness and he realized what he’d been needing, what he’d been missing. The first time those strikes made him hard he nearly panicked, cursing his twisted habits that must have conditioned him to such a response.

He would bite his lip and hope Youngbae didn’t notice, he’d deflect and shut down any awkward questions. There was something wrong with him, something sick and twisted. He didn’t want to confront it, address it; the shame that settled in his gut confirmed his own perversion.

He promised himself he wouldn't react, wouldn't get hard. Sometimes he succeeded, but sometimes he hovered, amorphous, over his own body, disconnected in a hazy world constructed by Youngbae's hands or sometimes (to his deep pleasure) his belt. At those times, no control was possible. There was just him, Youngbae, and the little haven they created together.

If he was a good friend he’d have ended it but he couldn’t. He needed the knowledge that as bad as he got, there would always be Youngbae. He needed those moments when Youngbae pushed him, controlled him. There were moments he hated himself for his weakness.

He pushed too hard after debut, they all did but he knew he was passing safe limits. If he were honest with himself he sometimes pushed too much just to get Youngbae’s attention, his care. There were times, however, that the life they’d chosen pushed him hard enough.

Jiyong hadn’t meant to trip, somehow his feet had tangled in themselves, his eyes closing in a micro-sleep. He could not remember when his mind had stopped for long enough to let him rest, and so he found himself sprawled in a pile of broken crockery in the middle of their kitchen. He stared dumbly at the white shards and fragments while he heard Youngbae growl at the rest of the group to get out of the dorm.

He needed to explain - needed to fix things. Youngbae grabbed him and Jiyong wanted to melt into the feel of those hands, gripping him hard enough to bruise. Release from everything was only moments away, his body felt light as it fell to the bed, pushed by Youngbae.

“Enough, Jiyong,” Youngbae’s voice was a whip cracking at his mind. He felt himself whimpering under it.

He apologized. Guilt and shame were hovering over his head but he pushed them away, he would deal with them later. Now he would lose himself, turn himself over to Youngbae.

“How long has it been since you slept?”

Jiyong didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know,” he paused, “sir.” The word fell from his lips and a feeling of rightness settled on him. He heard the leather of Youngbae’s belt slipping through his belt loops.

“Shirt off,” Youngbae commanded. Jiyong began pulling at his shirt. “Lay down.” Jiyong’s body moved, he had no control now, it was all Youngbae’s. He tried to mount a small protest when Youngbae instructed he would be resting tomorrow, but Youngbae used that voice and Jiyong’s will evaporated, subsumed in his hyung’s care.

He lay prone on the bed in only his boxers. The fabric of Youngbae’s blankets felt smooth and cool under him. He closed his eyes and all he could hear was Youngbae’s breaths, steady, calm, overwhelming. The skin of his back tingled in anticipation, cold air dancing up and down his skin. The first strike was heaven, scorching heat ripping across his shoulders. He yelped and Youngbae gave him permission to yell.

He yelled.

Each strike reverberated through him. Jiyong’s world fell away, shredded apart under Youngbae’s belt. He’d never lost so much of himself. The pain stripped everything from him, every worry, every responsibility, every fear of failure. There was nothing of him left but the beautiful red-hot pain throbbing down his spine. Youngbae’s pace was perfection, timed to a sweet precision. Jiyong hovered in anticipation of each strike, soaring in the nothingness of Youngbae’s creation.

The strikes stopped after one sharp hit to the bare back of his thighs. The belt dropped and a hand settled between his shoulders, bringing him back down to earth. Jiyong was a live wire, body wanting to arc into Youngbae’s touch. Whimpers spilled past his lips and tears stung his eyes.

He was hysterical. His breath was ragged and broken. He was hard, achingly so. He could feel nothing but what Youngbae made him feel. Hands rubbed their way down his tortured flesh, soothing, calming. Tears fell, hot and sweet, mingling with his sweat, when Youngbae promised one more round.

The strikes began again, scorching already raw skin. Each hit sent shocks of pleasure coursing to his cock, but Jiyong barely registered them. He floated in the moment between strikes, lived in each pulsing sharp sting. A blow fell on the lowest curve of his back and his cock jumped hard, pinned by his weight to the bed. Another blow over his ass, another, and one more and Jiyong’s body flinched. Youngbae called his name, touched him and he went taut, tight. He convulsed in orgasm and came, semen pooling underneath him.

Jiyong’s mind snapped.

“No,” he shouted, the words crashing only in his mind. No, what had he done? NO, NO, NO. He could not think past overwhelming negation. Youngbae reached for him and he lurched away, crying in agony. He needed to get away. What had he done?

He ran to his room, half naked, stained and filthy. He made it into the door and collapsed after closing it. He was shaking, hard, body shocked from the abuse, the pain, the shame. He curled in on himself, arms digging bruises into his shoulders, knees pressed up against his chest. He held himself and shook.

Tears and sobs wrenched themselves from him. His voice grew raw from his cries. He was a monster, sick, twisted, perverted. It was the only explanation. He was filthy and unclean, inside more than out.

He snaked a hand down to his flaccid cock. He wanted to rip it off. He’d never been so deeply betrayed.

The image of Youngbae, his eyes wide in shock, his voice sharp with disgust tormented Jiyong. His brilliant brain replaying his last two horrible seconds in Youngbae’s room again and again. Not only was he sick, now his best friend knew it.

His stomach heaved and he lurched for his trash can. He retched and heaved, stomach voiding itself completely. He convulsed again and again, until he was beyond empty, until there was only the clench of his stomach and the sting of acid in his throat.

He lay, filthy and broken, and he cried. He cried until he was dry. He cried until he couldn’t, until his voice was gone. He had no control, his mind ripped him apart and his body fell apart.

 

Hours later he roused himself enough to clean up his mess. He escaped to the bathroom after a quick check of the hallway to be sure it was empty. He didn’t deserve to see anyone. He bathed himself in scorching water, the raw skin and forming bruises of his back protesting. He deserved that pain, too. He shivered under the heat. No matter what he did his body would not stop shaking.

He made it back to his room and buried himself in his bed. His body, apparently, still had a reserve of tears to shed.

The next two days passed in a haze of misery and depression, bouts of restless sleep were broken by fits of unending tears. The rest of the band brought him trays of food, which remained uneaten on his floor. Youngbae never brought him food. His heart ached with the knowledge that Youngbae would never bring him anything again, and the surety that he deserved just as much.

On the third day, Seunghyun came into his room and just lay with him. They didn’t speak. But it felt good to have someone close by.

*****

The next years were an agony of loneliness and depression for Jiyong. They were not, however, unproductive. As if mocking his personal misery, professional success found them. And then came a fateful dinner. A dinner where he and Youngbae were actually alone together, where they were actually able to talk. To have the conversation they avoided.

And then he had his best friend back. It wasn’t quite the same, they were careful of one another, afraid of damaging what was regrowing between them.

Jiyong felt like shit about it, resubjecting Youngbae to his dark proclivities. But he was greedy enough, selfish enough to take what he could.

*****

Jiyong sat at his desk, loose calm filling him. Youngbae had centered him enough to push away the pain of false plagiarism accusations, centered him enough to attempt writing a bit. He was vaguely aware of a knock before he felt Youngbae enter his room and say something about talking. He waved, distracted by the rhythm of a chorus line.

“Dongwook saw us earlier,” Youngbae said. Jiyong’s breath froze and his blood ran cold. He looked up, eyes wide with shock.

“We,” he continued, “talked for a while and he knows what we are doing. He gave us some advice.”

Jiyong began to twist his rings as he stared at the floor, embarrassed flush warming his cheeks.

“Jiyong,” Youngbae’s voice was soft and a hand reached to grip his shoulder. “Jiyong, it’s ok. Hyung says it’s ok - that we’re ok.”

Jiyong closed his eyes.

“I promise Jiyong-ah, it wasn’t bad.”

Jiyong looked up at Youngbae. “Yeah?”

“There are other people like us, like you, who do these things.” Youngbae paused then tugged Jiyong over to the bed so they could lay not looking at each other. In the dim light from Jiyong’s computer, laying on their backs staring at the ceiling,  it was easier to talk.

“So,” Youngbae licked his lips then plunged ahead, “Dongwook said that what we’re doing isn’t bad. We’re not bad. But - we aren’t doing it very well either. He called us stupid. That one time - that time-” Jiyong’s body tensed up and Youngbae’s hand reached to grasp his. The touch centered Jiyong. He focused on the feeling of Youngbae’s smaller hand in his.

“That time what happened is called a drop?” Jiyong closed his eyes to listen to Youngbae’s voice. “It’s a sub drop. What we do - it makes us both feel things, experience things. We are pushing our bodies. It isn’t bad.” Youngbae’s fingers stroked his. “It isn’t bad,” he repeated. “But it makes you vulnerable. It makes me vulnerable. We have to take care of each other - after. Because the emotions come up and if we don’t take care of each other, it’s like…. it’s like our bodies go into shock and we can’t deal with it.”

“I threw up after,” Jiyong whispered. “And I couldn’t stop shaking. I was - miserable - depressed for days.”

“I threw up too,” Youngbae said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so terrible.”

Youngbae released Jiyong’s hand and slid an arm under his shoulders. “It’s ok though. Hyung explained it to me. We just need to be careful. We can make a word - where either of us say it and we stop what we’re doing and whenever we’re done, we have to be sure to -” he broke off, feeling a bit awkward. Jiyong snuggled into him, nudging him with an finger. “We have to take care of each other, after. Clean up, touch, eat, drink, maybe a warm shower-.”

Jiyong’s face wrinkled in disgust.

“Not together, Jiyong.” Youngbae sighed.

“I don’t like you, Bae,” Jiyong said.

“I know, Ji,” Youngbae said. “But you do like boys.” Jiyong buried his face in Youngbae’s side. “You like Big Seunghyun.” The head buried in Youngbae’s side nodded. “You also like the pain, like that. It’s ok. Dongwook-hyung said that’s ok too. He told me - told me about some websites that we can read, that can help us.”

“Ok,” Jiyong whispered.

“Really, Big Seunghyun-” Youngbae couldn’t help himself.

Jiyong punched him in the shoulder. “Ya!”

Youngbae sniggered. “I’m not saying anything.”

 

The next day Jiyong made it a point to track down Dongwook. He hovered outside a recording room. He bounced from foot to foot at the door until Dongwook noticed him dancing around. He lifted his jaw in acknowledgment, and Jiyong crossed to sit in the hall outside the door and wait. Jiyong busied himself by texting responses at Youngbae who was at home reading off a list of kinks from a website.

_“Age play” -Youngbae_

“What’s that?” -Jiyong

_“Like pretending you’re a kid, I think.” -Youngbae_

“Um, no!” -Jiyong

_“Animal play” -Youngbae_

“What the heck? Is that a thing?” -Jiyong

_“I guess so it’s on the list” -Youngbae_

“How is there this much to be into.” -Jiyong

_“I’m not even sending you everything.” -Youngbae_

“...” -Jiyong

_“There’s no way I’m doing some of this.” -Youngbae_

“Fair enough” -Jiyong

_“Asphyxiation” -Youngbae_

“I don’t think so? Maybe” -Jiyong

_“I can put it in the to try column.” -Youngbae_

“Did you start a spreadsheet?” -Jiyong.

 _“Yes, shut up.” -Youngbae._ Jiyong snickered at his phone. Only Youngbae.

_“Beating. Soft/hard. I’m gonna say yes.” -Youngbae_

“Ha, yes.” -Jiyong

_“Blindfolding.” -Youngbae_

“Yes. Big yes.” -Jiyong

_“Bondage” -Youngbae_

“Like being tied up? YES” -Jiyong

_“Collars”_

Jiyong’s heart fluttered, the ghostly impression of black leather pressed against his throat flashing through his mind. He drew in an unsteady breath.

“Hey,” Dongwook’s voice came from above him. Jiyong looked up, feeling guilty, caught.

“Hyung,” Jiyong said.

“I figured I’d see you today.” Dongwook stepped back. “Come on, let’s get something to eat, and we can talk.”

Talking with Dongwook peeled back some of the layers of guilt and shame Jiyong had wrapped around himself. It didn’t seem quite so shameful, his needs, when Dongwook spoke of them with his open, compassionate smile. His eyes were sincere when he said, “you aren’t sick or twisted, dongsaeng.” It was easy to believe his hyung.

Jiyong didn’t feel quite such a pervert, an aberration, as Dongwook spoke of his own kinks, casually over grilled beef. By the end of the night, over shared soju in a street-vendor's tent, Jiyong even started to feel a bit of acceptance.

He crashed, loud and drunk, into Youngbae’s room that night feeling lighter and happier than he had in years.

“Yes,” he said as he fell on Youngbae.

“Jiyong, go away,” Youngbae grunted. Jiyong ignored him and knelt on the bed, hands gripping Youngbae’s shoulders.

“Yes, I’d like a collar someday,” he said, face too close to Youngbae.

“How much did you drink?”

“Enough,” Jiyong sprawled back, limbs draping over bed, pillows and best friend heedlessly. “There’s nothing wrong with me Bae-yah.”

“I know, Jiyong,” Youngbae said around a round wrist pressed over his mouth. “I’ve been saying that-” he swatted at Jiyong’s arm, “for years. Now shut up and go to bed.”

“‘Kay,” Jiyong said and rolled over.

“In your own bed.”

Jiyong grunted. “I would like a collar one day,” he whispered, fingers tracing the base of his neck.

“Ok Jiyong.” Youngbae gave up and tried to go back to sleep.

*****

It may have been inevitable, but mutual crushes could only go unrequited for so long. Hours spent together on a solo album did with being in a band together could not. Jiyong and Seunghyun fell for each other, hard. It shocked Jiyong with its intensity, and even frightened him a bit.

Maybe it was knowing how close his hyung had been with Dongwook, or maybe it was just how perfectly they seemed to go together. Whatever it was, it was natural and easy the first time he whined for Seunghyun to slap him in bed.

Seunghyun pulled back, mid thrust before burying himself inside Jiyong again. He bent down to whisper, low voice rumbling through Jiyong’s body. “Do you want me to slap you, now?”

Jiyong nodded, whimpering a litany of pleas that yes he wanted it, needed it. Seunghyun thrust into him a few more time, slow rolls of his hips setting a maddening pace, before pulling back and raising his hand and laying a hard slap against Jiyong’s cheek.

Jiyong writhed on Seunghyun’s cock and blinked back stars. “Again,” he begged. Seunghyun struck him and the pain shot through him to his cock. He ached for more. “God, Seunghyun,” he groaned and reached up to pull Seunghyun into a kiss.

After, when they collapsed in bed, spent, Seunghyun pulled Jiyong in tight. He covered them with blankets and drew lazy circles over Jiyong’s bare skin with a slender finger.

“Is this what it was?” Seunghyun asked. Jiyong looked at him in question. “That thing that happened with you and Youngbae, that broke you up for years.”

“How’d you-”

“I’ve been hanging with Dongwook-hyung for years.” Seunghyun explained. “Played with him a few times, even.”

Jiyong’s eyes went wide.

“What’s your safeword?” Seunghyun asked.

“We just use colors, red, yellow, green.”

Seunghyun hummed. Silence stretched between them a while as they held each other, breathed in one another. Jiyong felt warm, safe, protected. He loved the feel of Seunghyun pressed against him, of strong firm hands grounding him.

“Do you guys-” Seunghyun paused as if unsure in what he wanted to say.

“It isn’t sex with me and Bae,” Jiyong explained. “And we haven’t done anything since you and I, since we-”

“I’d like for it to be something for us, Jiyong-ah,” Seunghyun whispered into Jiyong’s hair. “Will you submit to me?”

“Yes, Seunghyun,” Jiyong whispered.

*****

It ended terribly. They both fought to hold on for years, despite secrecy and celebrity schedules and social demands, but the one thing Seunghyun couldn’t fight was his mother’s heartbreak at having a gay son.

And after, when his world came crashing down, there was only one place he could go. He fled Seunghyun’s fortress and made his way to his haven. Despite the hour, he felt no compunction at entering his code into Youngbae’s apartment door.

“Jiyong-” Youngbae said, standing in the dim light of his hallway, framed by his bedroom door. Jiyong kicked off his shoes, breath stuttering over repressed sobs.

“It happened,” Youngbae said. Jiyong nodded. Saying the words would shatter him. The door opened and Youngbae stepped back. “Come, sleep.” He pulled Jiyong in and towards the bedroom. Jiyong made it that far, but the second Youngbae slipped behind him on the bed he broke. Ugly sobs ripped from his chest and he shook with the pain of a shattering heart.

They didn’t sleep; Jiyong cried and Youngbae lay with him, providing soothing sounds and the warmth of his presence. The next morning Youngbae pushed him into a shower.

“Just stand under the hot water for 10 minutes,” Youngbae cajoled. He then nagged Jiyong into at least the pretense of breakfast before Jiyong managed to sit himself, catatonic, on Youngbae’s couch. Intermittent tears would stream down his cheeks, chased by whimpered sobs. He’d found completion in Seunghyun, the merging of all his desires, needs, longing, in one person who demanded little and gave everything. And it was over and for some insane reason his heart persisted in pumping in a broken chest.

It was twilight before he moved to speak. “Flight tomorrow,” his voice was a harsh whisper.

Youngbae stirred from his spot beside him, eyes still watching whatever drama he’d put on in an attempt to draw Jiyong out of himself.

“We leave at 9, Ji.” Youngbae looked at Jiyong, Jiyong blinked at him. “I moved our flight. We’ll fly in later and meet up with them at the venue.”

A shred of the tension churning in Jiyong’s stomach uncoiled. “We will be there a little late,” Youngbae said, “but you won’t have to see him until rehearsal.” Tears streamed down Jiyong’s face and he curled in around the agony strangling him. He shuddered as he felt a hand began stroking through his hair. “I also had them set up a separate dressing room for us.”

The shudders became actual sobs, great wrenching cries that ripped through him. This is what they were now. Separate flights, separate sides, separate lives, a great schism in the group that left Youngbae, Daesung and Seungri treading in the middle. Jiyong felt Youngbae next to him. Well maybe just the maknaes were stuck in the middle, because he would always have Youngbae. He hoped that knowledge would provide comfort soon.

“You won’t have to see him,” Youngbae whispered.

Jiyong came to with a blanket around him and Youngbae shaking him gently awake, telling him it was time to get up. True to his word, Youngbae ensured Jiyong only saw him at rehearsal, then at performance. G-Dragon could deal with that.

Back in Seoul, Jiyong resumed his occupation of Youngbae’s couch. Then there was another weekend, another performance, another round of separate flights and different dressing rooms. At least Seunghyun seemed to be working just as hard as Jiyong at keeping them apart.

*****

He hadn’t intended on moving in with Youngbae, and technically he didn’t. His home just held too many memories, echos of Seunghyun permeated the very air of his condo. Even turning down his street clamped a vice of anxiety around his heart.

So much easier to go to Youngbae’s. Easier to go buy new clothes and throw them in Youngbae’s machine. Jiyong wondered how long his friend would tolerate it, but did nothing to stop himself as weeks stretched into months. He knew he was pushing his limits. He also knew that this was how they worked.

So he was not surprised when he came home one day to Youngbae standing in the center of the living room, belt in hand.

“Ok, Bae, I know I need to stop,” Jiyong began explaining. It was only a pretense, but one he insisted on maintaining.

“Strip, kneel.”

Jiyong shivered, mind beginning to uncoil and that feeling he craved beginning to spread up through him. He needed that voice. He walked into the living room, dropping his bag and pulling off his shirt. He slipped off his pants and kicked them to a corner of the room, kneeling smoothly at Youngbae’s feet.

“This is enough, Jiyong,” Youngbae’s voice was stern, hard. Jiyong closed his eyes and floated into the familiar feeling of weightlessness that surged, summoned by that voice.

“You need to stop moping.” A strap fell on his ass, sending a sharp sting up through his spine. “You need to stop hiding.” Another hit and Jiyong lurched forward onto elbows and knees.

Jiyong’s breathing was harsh, puffs of air warming the cool marble. He pressed his forehead against it. Blood rushed violently in him and a red flush heated his skin. This was what he had been needing, what he had been waiting for. Submission pulled at him, freed him from the demands of his misery, his aching sadness, his loss. Tears dropped, hot and fat, onto the floor below him.

Another strike and he whimpered, arching into it. Youngbae wasn’t holding back. A rain of blows fell in quick succession and a tremble began surging up his limbs, coiling in his core. The pain was intoxicating. He felt himself drift away from his body, anchored by only the feel of leather on his skin.

He let himself cry and twist and writhe underneath Youngbae. Youngbae struck him until he came, untouched, aroused, stimulated and undone by the pain guiding him. He collapsed face-down on the slick floor, he felt Youngbae kneel next to him.

“You’re going home today, Jiyong.” Youngbae’s voice was so gentle. Jiyong wanted to submit, wanted to say yes, yes he was going home today. The image of Seunghyun in his bed flashed in his mind and his body revolted. He shook his head, a sob pulled from his chest.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” Fear was a living thing within him.

Tender hands stroked at him, pulled him out of his terror. “You can, Jiyong. You can and you will. You will move on from this. You will not live here forever.”

“Bae-” a hand came down sharp and fast on his back, bringing him up short.Breath pulled through his lips in a shocked gasp. He threw his head back, body recoiling from the hit. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“Sir,” Jiyong whispered. “Sir, I can’t.” The shame of failure washed over him.

The hands returned, rubbing gentle circles down his spine. “You can, and you will.” The hands pulled at his shoulders, pulling him into Youngbae’s arms. He felt a shift and the feel of fabric encircled the base of his neck and pulled tight. His breath stuttered and a hand flew up to his neck. A collar. His fingers traced a leather collar, fastened tightly around his neck. Youngbae’s collar.

“You are going home today, Jiyong,” Youngbae’s eyes held his and Jiyong nodded. He was going home, but, his fingers stroked the leather. He wouldn’t be alone.

“Yes, sir,” Jiyong said. He cried, and Youngbae held him. He shook and Youngbae centered him. He’d fallen, and Youngbae pushed him up and forward.

Youngbae cleaned him up, then sent him to a warm shower, fed him then sent him home.

Jiyong froze at his own threshold, immobile as he watched his front door swing into his empty apartment. He held his breath waiting for visions of Seunghyun to overwhelm him. He hooked a hand at the strip of leather on his neck and stepped into his home.

He kept the collar with him. He could not wear it, he had appearances to maintain. But he kept it with him, on him, stuffed in a pocket, or wrapped around a wrist. Knowing it was there got him through the next few months. Slowly it got easier. Slowly he began to rebuild himself.

When he started dating Kiko he gave the collar back to Youngbae.

*****

He loved Kiko. In a beautiful, completely different way than he’d loved Seunghyun. Her delicate beauty brought out a desire in him he didn’t usually experience: to care for, to protect. They made it several months before the need for submission began to pull at him, itch under his skin.

He hadn’t really expected her to understand. Honestly, he hadn’t expected to fall hard enough for her to need to. But he had and she didn’t.

Her first rejection cut him.  He couldn’t blame her, but neither could they move forward.

When she came back she tried, honestly and sincerely. But they both knew after the one time Jiyong knelt for her that it wasn’t going to work. In the moment before any blow fell, she flinched back, body recoiling at the thought of striking him. Her slaps felt like the brushing of feathers on his skin, tender and careful. His heart ached for her, and he held her as she apologized over and over for her body’s betrayal. He whispered comfort and love in response, and never asked her to try again.

She tried to accept Youngbae instead, but she never was able to purge anxiety that emerged when he disappeared to Youngbae’s and returned stiff and sated. She never could get her heart to accept the reasoned assurances of her mind. She couldn’t handle the sight of the bruises on Jiyong’s skin, angry red and fading to purple then yellow. No, she never came to accept.

At least they could remain friends. At least she didn’t judge too harshly.

 

After HyoRin left Youngbae, guilt deeper than the shame at failing with Kiko kept Jiyong from visiting his best friend. Until Youngbae figured out what was going on and showed up at Jiyong’s door with a pack of soju and a punch to the arm. A hard punch.

“It sucks, Ji, but you’re not allowed to blame yourself,” he’d said after a bottle and a half of soju and two episodes of a sappy romance drama.

“But, Bae-”

“No, Ji,” Youngbae threw back a shot. “This, what we are, I am not going to apologize for it, and we’ll figure it out, somehow.”

“You know I could look around, maybe find another Dom.”

“No, Ji,” Youngbae said. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

“But-”

“No, you’re mine until you find someone who can be everything you need. Now stop making me say sappy shit, grab us some beer from your fridge and put on the next damn episode .”

“Fine,” Jiyong said, not bothering to hide his wide grin. “You do love me,” he swooned and threw himself across Youngbae’s lap.

“Fuck off,” Youngbae said, and shoved Jiyong to the floor.

Jiyong laughed as got beers from the fridge and returned to their nest on the couch. Before he pushed play on the remote he looked at Bae, face serious. “If it would help, you can put me under. I have the collar somewhere around here.”

Youngbae nodded, tears threatened at the corner of his eye and his lower lip trembled. “It might, maybe. Later." He took in a shaky breath. "Now push play damn it.”

 

Jiyong wanted to kiss Dongwook the day Youngbae showed up at his door with a new toy in hand. He wanted to full on french his hyung after he felt what that crop could do. Someday he might find someone who could fulfill him every way he needed. Someday. But until then, at least he had Youngbae.

 

* * *

  **Coda**

* * *

 

“You know, Jiyong-ah,” Youngbae said as he rubbed a soothing lotion over Jiyong’s abused skin, the riding crop really was a thing of beauty.

“Hmmm,” Jiyong hummed, still feeling a light buzz and preening under Youngbae’s hands.

“Those military drill sergeants are going to do wonders for you.”

Jiyong giggled and Youngbae giggled and the two devolved into loud, hysterical laughter.

 

 


End file.
